Dear Japan:
I wanted very much to enjoy our time together. You seemed pretty cool and interesting. I was really hoping this would work out.
But you have to do something about these cockroaches.
When I get woken up at 00:40 to a baleful scrabbling sound, and that resist that growing dread in the pit of my stomach for as long as possible before finally getting up and turning on the light and seeing the inevitable boding shape lurking in my kitchen, and spend ten increasingly-stressful minutes chasing the nine-times-damned manifestation of all that is vile around my kitchen wearing only pyjamas, painfully aware of the bareness of my feet and the creature's delight in climbing up things - when I am left clinging onto surfaces as I reach anxiously into cupboards with only a thin plazzy bag on my fingers to try and catch the bugger - when I finally chase it outside and am left coated in a fresh layer of sweat, anxiously miserablely aware that another might manifest at absolutely any moment, and entirely unable to sleep - then I feel justified in saying, Japan, seriously, cockroaches.
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